My Poems

DESIRE FOR ILLUSION

I want my own "la poderosa"
to devour miles, like Che,
Or some new Rocinante,
To wander in sweet delusion
Like Don Quixote.
But now we have no illusion
this is the land of Logos,
Where every blade of grass
Has been seen,
And some islands have bar-codes.

All is done.
There is no new place,
I can only retrace.

Come back Mythos!
And veil once more the Earth,
Sprinkle some mystery over the malls,
Revive this modern dearth.


MY DAY OFF

I leafed through the brochure in my brain,
Booked a holiday,
Next night, I took a flight
To Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Customs confiscated my cares,
And I wandered aimlessly,
Danced on soft honey pebbles
And licked sugar stars.
Free, in a way, for a day.

Budget dreamlines fly here,
It not expensive,
But not everyone can stay
Where everyone wants to live.

Tuesday back to work,
Memories of a good day off
Fading.


LONELY MAN IN EGHAM

I see him in fog and sunlight,
Trudging daily, his feet no longer
Guiding, just moving in any
Direction, because standing still
Is hard. It makes him reminisce.
I see him, I mean, I notice him.
Normally I never acknowledge
That he is there. But today he
Looks at me. Can it be called looking?
His eyes try to disguise his contempt
For not living life; feigning
Emotion. He missed the last bus, so
He mourns his invented age of "long ago."
He gathers trinkets and tokens
For a love he wants to feel,
Not just hear it spoken
In pop songs. He wants
To belong
But now his feet make him walk
Away.
I see him walk past, every
Day.

THE IRREGULAR REGULAR

He sits at the same table in the corner,
So he can see all, and all can see him.
He doesn't need to peruse the menu,
The waitress takes no order,
But knows what he wants.
With a forced smile, his drink
Is placed before him.

He is the irregular regular,
A quirky talking point for the staff.
Something they have in common.

He tries to talk to the waitress; his waitress.
Smalltalk, something about a late bus,
But she briskly walks away to dust
An ornamental teapot on the shelf.
She dusted it yesterday.

He knows where she lives,
Her ambitions, how much she earns
And her shift patterns.
He savours everything he learns,
And fills the gaps with fantasies:
She never wears plain underwear.
She is single.

She, in return,
Just knows what he eats.
Steak, burgers, no salad.

A complaint reels her back in.
She rocks on her heels,
And tears little scraps
Off her order pad as
She speaks to him.
Being polite deserves more pay.

PAZ Y GUERRA

No hay oportunidad
Por la paz,
Solamente la guerra,
Cuando todos los hombres,
Quieren todo la tierra.

Paz y amor,
Todavia tan lejos
De nosotros,
Cerro mis ojos y
Olvido con los otros.

Siempre miramos el futuro
Como una puerta
Cerrada.
Hoy dia nada es
Especial.
Que podemos hacer?
Que vamos a creer?


BORROWDALE

Tranquility when your head is empty.
Hard to do that now,
Without pouring pints
Into bloated bellies,
What with all the distractions
branded as attractions,
Sining at you on the telly.

But here, face mirrored in the mere,
the world is my possession,
My treasure.
the stream tapers up the
Plush hillside, draped carelessly
Like a ribbon tied to the
Still sky. None of our wild
Creatures prowl here;
No full beam gazes upon you,
No concrete to erase the earth
beneath your feet.
Instead, every detail in this place
Plucks one more nightmare
Effortlessly
From conciousness,
Until serenity is achieved,
Just one landscape.
It could be ten thousand years ago,
It could be tomorrow.
Emptiness and solitude
Heal busy souls.

JAMSHID'S CUP

Do we really want to drink
From Jamshid's cup?
will that sweet perfume
Poison, not enlighten us?

No more mystics
Because everyone thinks
There are no new tricks.
We are Masters of ourselves.

Despite all I've been told,
Spiritually is good for the soul.
I am a godless prophet,
A modern mystic,
Twisting scripture,
Until it is paganisitc
And atheistic.
A melting pot of music and rhyme,
History, science
And literature,
From all worlds and all times.

Wisdom can be found under rocks,
There are things we have missed,
Doors we have left locked,
So I regress, to retrace,
then forget the old tricks,
And know truth.
I have patience.

ME, HOWLING.

I have seen the best minds of my generation
Cannibalised, anaesthetised by mundane mechanical
Monotony, engaged in worship of Macchiavelli
Without statues; clear headed confused fools
With mindless intelligence, only perpetuating the self,
Lodged in the present, over-caffeinated maniacs
So simple, so dull, an army of individuals,
Legions of learned people who refuse
To overtake their teachers,
Won't evolve, conscience absolved
In a sea of wires.

On the streets there is nothing.
Broken bottles are metaphors for nothing.
Forests of concrete symbolise nothing.

I have seen
Feminism flogged by its own advocates
Sluts stumbling with vomit in hair,
"How dare you stare!" they screech like harpies.
Graduation next week.

I have seen
Racism sidelined to subtlety and flashing,
Angry rants in explored but forgotten corners.
The march stopped. Everyone at ease for how long?

I have seen the non-conformists conform; everyone sucked back up.

I have seen men embark on quests and run aground on their
Own minds only to find they never left; they proclaim
Insanity but it is just vanity, the domain of fools making rules
With useless tools.

Skulls bashed in by bureaucracy and the ones who scream
Scream alone and silently on islands of distress and understanding.

I have seen conspiracy theories become reality and remain
Untrue.

So many invisible bonds of hope,
Strands of like minds
Severed by the hive mind,
And when new eyes
Peruse this page
They will burn with rage,
And criticise
My naiveté.

I have seen prescription drugs pumped into healthy bodies,
Whilst mind-openers are closed and sold by thugs, thus
misunderstood.

I have seen feral youths with blades become gangsters,
Haunting middle England so far away. But are we not all feral,
Collectively, sipping wine and using
Long words?
Devouring trees,
Slaughtering animals,
Towers everywhere
Up, up, up.
Bloated, scarring continents and
Choking skies.

We would rape the Sun if it were within our reach.

I have seen British blood valued more than
that of an anonymous child murdered
By bombs and greed. I have seen a
Nation too scared to look in the mirror,
But content to write
Vainglorious history,
Ignoring scribes who don't stick to the script.

the wise lay paths before the new batch
With clumsy hands, and hammer in
Signposts that scream destiny
In all directions.

I have seen
Angels demonised
By devils with dove wings
And plastic smiles
to hide hideous grins. Blind guides
Flapping forcing incoherent instructions
And rigid etiquette.
Nothing better yet.

I have seen men
Hypnotise the Gods and forget sobriety.

Just walk, walk
Until you find something
You were never looking for; dreams
Refrigerated or locked in dingy
Cupboards.

This is what I have seen.
Tell me, friend, what have you seen,
Beyond what you were taught,
And what you have bought?